


Come Back to Me

by assholeachilleus



Series: Deaf!jon au [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Deaf!Jon, Jon takes care of him, M/M, Martin is injured after Jane Prentiss' attack, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Trans!Martin, brief description of injuries - not graphic, thats it, thats the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assholeachilleus/pseuds/assholeachilleus
Summary: Martin comes home late after the Prentiss attack, his clothes torn and covered in injuries. Jon takes care of him. Part of my deaf!jon series, but can be read alone.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Deaf!jon au [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072478
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	Come Back to Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm literally so ridiculously attached to these characters, like I try n write them hurting but then I'm like nooo more fluff ksjksjfjkf. *rosa diaz voice* if anything happened to jon and martin i would kill everyone in the room and then myself.  
> Thank you so so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos, I appreciate it a lot!!! Hope you enjoy!

When Martin stumbled through the door of their shared flat half an hour late, his shirt ripped and torn above his ribs and down his arm, crimson stains splattered against the light material, needless to say Jon was not impressed.

But his muted anger dissolved into confused concern when he saw the dark marks pocketing Martin's skin underneath.

They were tiny really, small circular marks that vaguely resembled blisters, except they were flatter and the raw skin was two shades lighter than blood, shiny in places.

"What happened?" Jon asked, reaching out and curling his fingers into the torn material, skimming them along Martin's arms and down his chest, a frown etched permanently into his dark face.

Martin lent into the touch, despite the fact that his skin felt like it was on fire. Pain crackling and bubbling just beneath the surface, a pot ready to boil.

"I, um, well. It's nothing really, there were, um, some worms…?"

Jon stared, his face worryingly blank like a piece of paper eagerly waiting for that first pencil stroke.

"Some worms?" He repeated, his voice pitching erratically with disbelief.

Martin's cheeks flushed with the intensity of how he was being watched. Jon's eyes were roaming everywhere, as though the answer to his questions were located somewhere on his boyfriend's body, if only he could follow the clues to find them.

"Yes, um, it's sort of complicated. But, um, there's this entity. You, er, you remember Smirk's fourteen? Well one of those is, um, well the corruption. So worms." Martin shrugged, his exposed skin burning with the friction from his shirt.

Jon blinked. Once. Twice. "Oh Martin. Let's, ah, let's get you out of this, yeah?"

He started to gently unbutton the rest of Martin's ruined shirt, fingers deftly making ease of the work.

Jon audibly sucked in a breath when he saw Martin's chest. It was puckered with more of those odd circular marks, raw and glistening in the dull light of the living room.

"It's, um, it's not as bad as it, er, as it looks." Martin said, although his words were contradicted by the small groans of pain and winces that wracked through him.

"You sit on the couch. I'm going to get something to clean this. And some bandages." Jon's voice and hands were steady, his touch impossibly light.

Martin nodded, sighing as he sank back into the soft embrace of the couch, greeting the multitude of pillows and warm throws with unbridled eagerness.

The pain was slightly muted now, the blazing inferno calming into a steady burn, embers crackling and sparking occasionally across his chest and down his arms, flames flickering lowly, curling and twisting and writhing along his skin.

Jon returned with antiseptic and bandages, and started painstakingly wiping every pocket mark, his eyebrows joined in intense concentration, his glasses slipping further down his nose.

"Honestly, um, Jon, this isn't necessary. I can, er, I can do this myself." Martin winced as the cold antiseptic stung his raw flesh, creating ripples of torment that mocked him as they travelled across his skin.

"It's fine. Let me do it." Jon's voice was stern, his hands intently working, distress lines clear around his eyes and mouth. Jon glanced up as he treated the wounds around Martin's surgery scars, searching the other man's face for any additional discomfort. "Is that alright?"

"Um, yeah, yeah. That's fine." Martin's cheeks were burning hotter than anywhere else, although he didn't think it was from the worm wounds. Jon's hands were so gentle and he was practically sat in Martin's lap, his focus intense and clinically cool.

After what felt like forever, Martin had started humming in his head to distract from the searing pain skittering across his skin, Jon sat back and started to wind the bandages around Martin's chest.

Martin could feel his blood thrumming violently in his ears, his hands shaking where they lay clenched in his lap.

"Martin." Jon cupped his cheek softly, his eyes glassy and his voice teetering between barely contained anger and pure concern.

Martin swallowed, curling his fingers with ease around Jon's small wrist.

"I'm fine. Honestly."

Jon laughed but it was humourless.

"Martin, you're hurt. You are not fine. I mean, obviously I understand your job isn't exactly orthodox but this?" Jon bit his lip as he ran soothing hands down Martin's flushed cheeks, his cold fingers anchoring Martin from the dizzying warmth of pain.

“Your job has its dangers too.” Martin said, fighting an assault of nausea that spread through his chest and throat like hands reaching out, their long fingers raging as they scraped painfully against his insides.

Jon scoffed, barely containing an eyeroll. “The biggest danger of my job is a papercut. It’s hardly comparable.”

"Jon, it's, it's not even that bad. It, um, it'll heal and, and probably scar. But that's, er, that's not a big deal. Guys even find scars attractive, right?" Martin attempted to smile, but it was more of a grimace, his nose flaring in pain as he stretched his pocketed skin.

Jon ignored his joke. "It could've been worse though. I, I, what if you had been really hurt, Martin? What if you died? I-" He broke off as tears slipped down his cheeks, drawing erratic patterns on the dark skin, and dripping off his chin, staining the couch in areas.

Martin made a hurt noise, reaching out and wiping Jon's cheeks dry.

"I won't, okay? Yes I got hurt this time, but it's a few marks, they'll heal. And, um, we won't make the same mistakes next time. I'll be fine." Martin ran comforting hands down Jon's sides, feeling the soft material of his own jumper as he wound his fingers tighter.

Jon's voice sounded so raw. "You can't know that. You can't tell me you'll be fine. You can't control it."

Martin took a deep breath. "How about this, then? I promise that if a case gets too dangerous, or I, er, I think I might be in proper, mortal, life or death danger, I'll leave it alone. Stop working on it. And then I can't get hurt."

Jon sniffed, offering a watery smile. "You promise?" Hope shone through on his face, like the sun breaking through dark storm clouds, carrying the promise of a better tomorrow.

Martin pressed their noses together, his voice muffled where his lips were squished against Jon's cheek.

"I promise." Jon felt the soft vibrations as he spoke, and warmth slowly started to spread through his body, like sitting by the fire on a cold winter afternoon.

"That you'll always make it back to me?" Martin smiled, lacing their hands together.

"Jonathan Sims, I promise I will always make it back to you."

It was a promise he intended to keep.


End file.
